Starcrossed
by Rockstarlet
Summary: Hogwarts is putting on its own production of Romeo and Juliet. Draco Malfoy is less than impressed.
1. Where we lay our scene

It was the warmest September Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had seen for decades

It was the warmest September Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had seen for decades. In the vast grounds surrounding Hogwarts, the infamous Womping Willow wilted tiredly in the relentless sunlight and the giant squid, which lived in Hogwarts' lake, had not been seen since the school returned from their summer holiday a week beforehand, apparently preferring to stay below the surface of the cool water. Students stumbled from class to class, bleary eyed and drowsy from the heat, only to reach their destination, take their seat and gratefully fall asleep all over again. Some of the less efficient teachers on the Hogwarts staff, too, found themselves dropping off mid-lesson, much to the groggy delight of everyone present except, it would seem, Hermione Granger.

Despite all this, Draco Malfoy was irritable. Although this was a well known fact around Hogwarts – and, no doubt, the world – lately he was even more irritable than usual. For a whole week (that's seven entire days and nights) he hadn't slept at all. His friends all told him that he was exaggerating, that he must be falling asleep at some point during the night without realising it, but if this was true then he certainly wasn't feeling the benefit of it. He was unsure how his body was even still functioning. He snapped in response to everything he was asked, his temper now so short that it even made him wince, and he had no energy left, not even enough to lift his head from the desk in class, never mind pay attention or take notes. He dreaded going to bed each night, only to lie, sweating and furious, in the suffocating darkness for eight excruciating hours until it was time to get up again. He hadn't dared to look in the mirror for two or three days now, already quite aware of how horrific the dark circles under his eyes would look in comparison to his pale skin. Instead, he averted his eyes as he brushed his teeth, ran a hand through his messy, white blonde hair and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

The seventh year Ancient Runes class had been queuing outside Professor Babbling's classroom for a good twenty minutes first thing on Monday morning, when Hermione Granger – who was standing next to him in line, but not too close – sighed impatiently in a way that made Draco's lip curl, and happened to turn her head in his direction.

'God,' she exclaimed, apparently before she could stop herself, 'You look awful! I mean… tired.'

She caught herself, but not quite quickly enough. He slid his gaze to her with the minimum of effort, his mouth set in an unimpressed line and muttered, 'Thanks a lot.'

He found himself unable to retaliate in his usual hateful manner because he was just too damn tired, and, anyway, he knew she was right. He hoped that they could mercifully allow this poor excuse for a conversation to die quietly there, but the mudblood just kept on flogging.

'I take it you haven't been sleeping?' She asked.

'What do you think?' He replied dryly.

'Yeah… sorry,' she mumbled. She looked down at her pile of books clutched in the crook of one arm and chewed her thumbnail while Draco let his head fall back against the hard, cool wall behind him and wished that he could just sink back into it and disappear. He wouldn't mind being a brick, he thought. He wondered if he'd done enough bad things in his life yet to constitute his future reincarnation as a brick. He didn't think he'd done anything that bad yet. Maybe if he murdered Granger he'd come back as a brick. Granger who, by the way, was _still_ talking.

Draco resurfaced from his thoughts and tuned back in to her inane drone, but he thankfully realised that she was no longer talking to him.

'Oh, yes,' she was saying to Padma Patil, 'Justin's very enthusiastic, he just isn't all that…'

'Good?' Padma suggested bluntly.

'No! It's not that. I just don't think he's exactly who Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote the part of Romeo…' Hermione replied carefully.

Draco rolled his eyes skyward and gratefully tuned out again. Hogwarts was putting on a production of Romeo and Juliet before Christmas, and it seemed that it was all that anybody could talk about. It was an idea that smacked of Professor McGonagall, and one which Draco had been convinced would immediately be shot down in flames by the entire student body. Half of the pupils from Hogwarts had been brought up in wizarding families and hadn't even heard of William Shakespeare before and, yet, Draco had been proved utterly wrong. Even Slytherins had auditioned and were now taking part in this embarrassment, but not Draco: not a chance.

It wasn't that Malfoy himself didn't know who Shakespeare was, or even that he didn't like his plays. In fact, he had read Romeo and Juliet quite a few more times than he'd be comfortable letting anybody know about. However, in his experience, school productions of anything were generally hugely upsetting affairs, and he saw no reason why this one would be any different. For a start, McGonagall had cast Justin Finch Fletchley as Romeo, and Hermione Granger as Juliet. Granger might be all right, he supposed grudgingly. At least, he reasoned, she could speak coherent English when she put some effort into it. However, they didn't come much more bumbling and pompous than Justin Finch Fletchley. He was – if anything – straight out of a PG Wodehouse novel. And, yes, Draco Malfoy also knew who PG Wodehouse was.

'Finch Fletchley will murder that part,' a voice said, interrupting Hermione and Padma's conversation.

Both girls turned instantly to look at Draco, and, as they did, his exhausted brain caught up with his big mouth and he realised that the voice had belonged to him.

'Like you would know, Malfoy,' Padma retorted loyally.

Hermione gave no instant response, suggesting to Draco that she agreed.

'You didn't audition,' she said slowly, 'If you thought you could have done better, you should have proved it.'

Draco smirked as cruelly as he could muster, 'I wouldn't have done better,' he replied, 'I would have done best.'

Hermione made no attempt to hide an exaggerated yawn as she rolled her eyes.

Over her shoulder, Draco saw Professor Babbling finally appear and unlock the door to her classroom. Slowly, the class began to sleepily make their way inside, one by one.

'Don't worry,' Draco said to Hermione, levelly meeting her gaze and still smirking, 'I'm sure it'll be fine.'

With that, he skirted briskly round her and slipped through the door to find his seat.

'Don't listen to him, Hermione,' Padma said, making a face at Draco's back, 'It _will_ be fine. Justin will do great. Come on, let's hurry up.'

Hermione said nothing.


	2. Wherefore art thou Romeo?

She wasn't at all religious, but every night before she went to sleep for the past week, Hermione Granger had prayed for two t

She wasn't at all religious, but every night before she went to sleep for the past week, Hermione Granger had prayed for two things: firstly, that Justin Finch Fletchley would learn to act, and secondly, that Draco Malfoy would get some sleep. She understood that the boy was frustrated, and she tried to sympathise when every morning his blue eyes were a little more bloodshot, and the bags under his eyes a little bigger, but she found his newest attempt at annoying her extremely grating and also completely effective. She couldn't help but think that he might cut her some slack, if only he weren't so grumpy.

'But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?' He demanded dramatically, arriving right on cue beside her in the line outside Monday morning Ancient Runes, 'It is the East, and Juliet is the Sun. Arise fair-'

'Enough!' She scowled, gritting her teeth and avoiding his smug grin.

In comparison to previous tortures, she knew this form of mockery was a tame one, but it had started to get to Hermione, simply because Malfoy seemed to know Romeo and Juliet in its entirety without even trying, and, yet, Justin Finch Fletchley couldn't even remember his first line. She hated to say it, but she had begun to cringe inwardly – and sometimes outwardly – every time Justin attempted to rehearse with her. Even Professor McGonagall's hopeful smile had faded to a worried grimace during practices.

'Try it again, Justin,' she would say, but her kindly words had a hard, tired edge to them.

'Sorry, sorry,' he would blush, fumbling with his script and constantly looking at the ground when he should have been worshipping his fair Juliet.

Hermione supposed that she had always known Justin's heart wasn't really in it, but when – on only the second Wednesday of term – he announced that he was hurriedly leaving Hogwarts for an exchange at Durmstrang, another wizarding school, she surprised herself with how relieved she felt. Professor McGonagall, on the other hand, was furious.

'I'm sorry, Professor,' Justin stammered, 'I thought it was too good an opportunity to turn down…'

'I don't know why you even auditioned for Romeo and Juliet, if you were going to leave us high and dry like this, Justin!' the Transfiguration teacher with a penchant for drama snapped. In reality, though, Hermione suspected that Professor McGonagall – like herself – would be somewhat glad to see the back of Justin.

'All that's left now, I suppose,' McGonagall said to Hermione once Justin had left, tail set firmly between his legs, 'Is the question of who we can find to play Romeo. It's either that or call the whole blasted thing off altogether which, by the way, I'm seriously considering after Justin's performance here today.'

'Couldn't you cast one of the other boys who auditioned?' Hermione asked.

'Hermione, if Justin was the best I could find out of all of the boys who auditioned, how exactly do you think I'm going to find a Romeo among the ones I rejected? No, no – it will have to be a boy who didn't audition initially.'

With a sigh, she stood up from her desk, 'I'm beginning to think that wizards and acting are a combination which does not exist. I suppose I'd better start planning more auditions…'

'Wait,' Hermione said suddenly, unable to stop the wicked grin which spread across her face, 'I think I have an idea.'

It was in that instant that Hermione Granger decided to stop wasting her breath praying for Draco Malfoy's salvation. Instead, she concluded, it was time to get even.

The next day, after lunch, Hermione was waiting for Draco Malfoy when he sauntered casually up to the Ancient Runes classroom door. Infuriatingly, a Hufflepuff boy – whom she didn't know the name of, but who was not making a very helpful first impression – stood slap bang between herself and Malfoy. Even more infuriating was the fact that, for once, Malfoy was quite happy to lean against the wall with his hands in his pockets and stare into space. Not a single Shakespearian phrase graced his lips. Hermione began to worry.

Finally, she leaned around nameless, but useless Hufflepuff boy and said in an overly bright and sugary tone, 'Sleeping any better lately?'

'She speaks,' he replied in a bored tone, 'Oh speak again bright Angel.'

Bingo.

The Hufflepuff boy looked between them with a bemused expression on his face. This only seemed to encourage Malfoy, who pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on and locked his tired, blue eyes with her brown ones.

'For thou art as glorious to this night being o'er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven,' he said, more beautifully, she thought, than he had meant it to sound, unluckily for him.

'Mr Malfoy!' Exclaimed Professor McGonagall, appearing – as she always did – from nowhere and bearing down upon him, 'What a _perfect_ coincidence this is! It turns out that we're in need of a Romeo for our play, and it sounds like you'd be the perfect young man to fill in for Mr Finch Fletchley.'

Malfoy's eyes darted furtively left to right, should any Slytherins be standing within earshot to hear this mortifying speech.

'What happened to Justin?' Draco asked quickly.

'Circumstances have changed, unfortunately,' Professor McGonagall informed him briskly.

'He's running away to Durmstrang,' Hermione translated, watching in delight as Malfoy's already pale complexion drained slowly to a chalky white as it dawned on him that he had just been utterly set up.

'So what do you say?' The Professor pressed in her usual, business-like tones.

'I don't think-' Malfoy began, before McGonagall quickly cut him off.

'I would, of course, make it worth your while.'

That shut Draco up, Hermione noticed.

'I've heard that you've been having trouble sleeping lately, is this right?' Their teacher continued, asking what seemed to Hermione to be the most unnecessary question she had ever heard. You only had to look at Malfoy out of the corner of your eye to see that he had been having trouble sleeping lately. She imagined there were Dementors who looked better than Malfoy did at that precise moment in time.

Draco's humourless expression indicated that he agreed with Hermione on that one, but he nodded silently for Professor McGonagall's benefit.

'It's probably the heat,' McGonagall told him sympathetically, 'It gets to me too. I do have a rather fantastic sleeping potion which would no doubt tide you over until the weather cools down a little…'

'Are you bribing me?' Malfoy demanded, his expression stuck somewhere between incredulity and a wry smile.

Professor McGonagall looked scandalised, 'Heavens, no!'

She looked to her left and saw Professor Babbling appear around the corner and begin to make her way towards her Ancient Runes class.

'I don't want to pressure you into anything, Draco,' McGonagall said kindly, 'Just think about it.'

And, with that, she was gone.

'You told on me,' Draco grumbled as he followed Hermione into Professor Babbling's classroom.

Hermione gave a shrug and looked at him over her shoulder, 'I just wanted to help you out. You don't have to do it.'

'Good,' Draco snapped, 'Because McGonagall can beg me all she wants – it won't make any difference.'

He stormed across to the opposite end of the classroom, making as much noise as possible. Hermione sighed quietly and took her seat.

'What if he says no?' She had asked Professor McGonagall as they conspired in her office.

'Trust me, Hermione,' her teacher had smiled knowingly, 'All it will take is a little bit of time.'

Not entirely convinced by this, Hermione opened her Ancient Runes textbook, took out a quill and idly thought how fitting it was that she should be the first Juliet left without a Romeo. It put a whole new slant on the question, 'Wherefore art thou Romeo?'


	3. Believe me love, it was the nightingale

Just past one in the morning – when he could no longer justifiably make excuses for being the only student in the entire school still out of bed – Draco gave a resigned sigh and wearily trudged up the spiral staircase leading from the otherwise empty Slytherin common room to the silent dormitory he shared with three other, now fast asleep, seventh year boys. He got undressed slowly and deliberately, knowing very well that he was only putting off climbing between those sheets for yet another murderous sleepless night. The last thing he wanted to do was cave to that manipulative old bitch McGonagall and to Granger, her perfect little prodigy. No, he told himself, he could beat this insomnia without their so-called help.

He took a deep breath and got into bed at fifteen minutes past one. He turned onto his left side, closed his eyes and felt his body relax. For approximately three and a half seconds, Draco felt content. When his left arm began to feel uncomfortable, he rolled onto his stomach and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as they would go. He pulled the covers over his head to block out any hint of light that might spill in through a crack in the curtains or from under the dormitory door and keep him from sleeping, but then he began to feel suffocated and far too hot. He agitatedly threw off the covers and flopped over onto his back. He lay staring at the ceiling until his back gave a painful and completely unprovoked twinge, at which point he let out a dangerous growl and sat bolt up right in bed, hitting his head even more painfully on the frame of his wooden four poster. Fiercely whispering expletives, Draco shot out of bed, pulling on an old pair of jeans and made for the door. He was still buttoning yesterday's white shirt as he hammered on the door of Professor McGonagall's office. The time was now nineteen minutes past one.

Professor McGonagall didn't seem at all surprised to see Draco Malfoy standing at the door of her office in the middle of the night, barefoot and glowering.

'Mr Malfoy,' she said, simply, moving back to let him inside, 'Come in, won't you?'

Draco didn't question why the teacher was still up and fully dressed at this time. Frankly, he didn't care. He didn't give a shit that he would have to pretend to be in love with Hermione Granger, and he couldn't care less that he would have to do so in front of what would most likely be the entire school. At that precise moment, all he wanted was just to get some fucking sleep.

'I take it you aren't here for Transfiguration tips?' McGonagall asked with the hint of a smile.

Draco's scowl deepened. He could tell she was enjoying this.

'I'll do the play,' he muttered, unable to even make eye contact with her, he was so frustrated and angry at both McGonagall and himself, not to mention completely exhausted.

'Wonderful!' Professor McGonagall looked genuinely pleased, 'But are you sure?'

Draco clenched his jaw, 'I'm sure,' he snarled.

'Well, thank you very much, Draco. I can sleep soundly at night now.'

'Are you taking the piss?' Draco burst out, before he could stop himself.

He expected McGonagall to be affronted or, at the very least, a little shocked, but her only response was to put one hand to her mouth in an attempt to hide her smile.

'I'm sorry, Draco, it completely slipped my mind,' she apologised, moving further into her office and opening a drawer in her desk.

Draco doubted that very much, but it looked like he was going to get what he wanted, so he made no further attempt to argue with her.

Professor McGonagall took out a large glass vial from her desk drawer. Draco wasn't sure if the vial or the liquid itself was a deep lilac colour, but either way, the overall effect looked very beautiful and almost began to make him feel calm before he had even taken the potion.

'Here you go,' his teacher said, returning across the room to him, 'My side of the bargain.'

She laid the vial in his hand and saw him hesitate, just slightly.

'Perfectly safe,' she assured him, 'I really do take it myself. No more than three drops per night though, you understand?'

He nodded.

'Now off to bed,' Professor McGonagall chastised, almost affectionately.

'Thanks, Professor,' Draco replied, almost sincerely.

It was a significant milestone in the lives of both individuals.

Back in his dormitory, Draco uncorked the vial and, without wasting time searching for a spoon, simply tapped three drops of Professor McGonagall's sleeping potion straight into his mouth. He swallowed and, for one split second, nothing happened. A feeling of inescapable dread began to creep over him, but – almost instantly – his eyelids began to feel heavy. His knotted shoulders relaxed, his eyes gently began to soften their focus, and he just had time to set the purple vial on his bedside table and tumble into bed before his eyes fell well and truly shut. For six glorious hours, he did not move a muscle. Finally, Draco Malfoy was sound asleep.

On Friday morning, Draco woke up and almost literally bounced out of bed. As he brushed his teeth, he sneaked a glance in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised by the almost healthy, energetic teenager looking back at him. He was the loudest person at the entire Slytherin table at breakfast, and his good mood only seemed to be infectious. He couldn't help but smile at everybody all day. For once, he felt relaxed, happy and – for want of a better word – good, and the weather only seemed to add to all of this. Even by the time classes were over and he was heading back to the Slytherin common room, Draco was only just starting to feel a little weary, a tiredness which he looked upon almost fondly, now that he had a cure for it. With his hands in his pockets he leisurely walked the veritable marathon from Professor Trelawney's Divination classroom in the attic of Hogwarts down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons.

The corridors of Hogwarts were busy, as everyone left their last class of the week and hurried to get as far away as possible. The sunlight shone in through the large windows and, for once, it wasn't too hot. Everybody looked better in this light, Draco thought. It felt like every girl he walked past looked unusually beautiful, and they all smiled coyly back at him when he showed them his rare, but earth stopping smile. One particularly cute Ravenclaw redhead in sixth year caught his eye and gave him a cheeky, slow smile which perfectly matched her very suggestive green eyes. Draco's smile widened and he shook his head to himself as he turned a corner and cheerfully jogged down the stairs in front of him. As the masses quickly dispersed to the left and right of him, Draco looked up and saw Hermione Granger walking towards him. Oblivious to the world, she held the book she was reading in her left hand and idly curled a strand of her hair with her right. She continued to dreamily walk straight for him, as though that was exactly where she was meant to be going.

Christ, Draco realised, even Granger looked stunning, in this light. The book, the curls, the peaceful smile: she was the epitome of the perfect woman, both intelligent and beautiful. It was a good look for her, if only she could improve on keeping her big mouth shut.

'Class is over, Granger,' he informed her, tugging the book from her hand and snapping it closed in front of her face. He grinned at her over the spine of Witches and Wizards In Power and she responded with a hesitant and bemused, but nonetheless attractive smile. He looked much better, and much more alive than Hermione had seen him all term.

'I take it somebody slept well last night,' she said, her head tilting curiously to one side, 'Does this mean you're going to do the play?'

'Didn't McGonagall tell you?' Draco asked, 'I thought she'd be singing it from the rooftops by now. I think she almost cried with joy when I told her I'd do it.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

'No wonder, really,' Draco added for effect.

'You think you're so great,' she rolled her eyes at him, hand on one hip.

'I _know_ I'm so great,' he beamed, 'But, if you'll excuse me, I think it's time to sleep again. That's right, Hermione – I get to go to sleep now, whenever I want to!'

Despite herself, and even though she knew he was mostly trying to piss her off, Hermione couldn't help noting how adorable his enthusiasm was, and – on a completely different level – how charming his real smile was. It was, she thought, possibly the first time he had ever called her by her first name to her face.

'You realise we have to rehearse together, don't you?' She said.

'But it's so late,' he said with big, blue pleading eyes.

'Are you kidding me?' She laughed, 'It's not even dinner time yet! It's four o'clock in the afternoon: the sun is shining, the birds are singing-'

'It is not yet near day,' Draco interrupted, brandishing her book back at her without dropping her gaze, 'It was the nightingale, and not the lark that pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear.'

Hermione blew out a sigh and took back Witches and Wizards In Power, 'I'm pretty sure that's my line,' she informed him.

'Believe me love,' Draco said, beginning to walk slowly away backwards, his shoulders lifted in a perpetual shrug, hands outstretched and looking more like a loveable rogue than Hermione had ever thought possible, 'It was the nightingale.'

He made a hasty exit, grinning all the while. Hermione stood still, clutching her book and twirling her hair and wondering very urgently why she suddenly found Draco Malfoy charming.


	4. You kiss by th' book

For one blissful month, Draco Malfoy slept soundly every single night

For one blissful month, Draco Malfoy slept soundly every single night. Somehow, Professor McGonagall's purple vial of sleeping potion was still almost full to the brim, despite the fact that they were now almost halfway into October. Hermione knew the exact day, six days in, when Draco got used to sleeping properly again – it was when he stopped acknowledging her existence. Rehearsals were the only time he even made eye contact with her. At least, she reasoned, he could act. He was a very convincing Romeo, and his knowledge of the play had shown even Hermione up.

'He's very good, isn't he?' Professor McGonagall had no more than breathed, incase Draco should hear, as she and Hermione watched Romeo and Mercutio play out their scene from the sidelines.

'Yes,' Hermione had admitted in a very small voice.

'Then have my lips the sin that they have took,' said Juliet.

'Sin from my lips, o trespass sweetly urg'd: give me my sin again,' Romeo murmured.

'Aren't you going to kiss in this scene?' Interrupted a nasal fourth year girl from Gryffindor house, who was playing the part of Juliet's Nurse.

'Pardon?' Draco and Hermione asked sharply in one voice, leaving Verona and coming back down to earth with a bump.

'You're going on about kissing each other, and how you just have and how you're going to again – it doesn't really make sense if you don't kiss each other,' the Nurse continued, apparently completely unaware of the lethal daggers Hermione and Draco were both shooting at her.

'The girl has a point,' Professor McGonagall said thoughtfully from the other side of the Great Hall, where rehearsals were taking place.

'But Professor!' Hermione and Draco exclaimed as one, again.

'We're only rehearsing!' Hermione added desperately. Draco nodded vigorously, craning over his shoulder at Professor McGonagall, his eyes wide with a look of pleading fear that Hermione resented slightly.

'You will rehearse stage directions too,' McGonagall said, conclusively, 'You will rehearse the kiss.'

'I think there's more than one…' the Gryffindor Nurse girl began, but trailed off at the ferocity of Hermione and Draco's facial expressions.

'Thank you, Mary,' Professor McGonagall said in a light tone, with a firm edge to it, 'From the same place please, Hermione.'

Suddenly, Hermione could look everywhere but at Draco Malfoy. She cleared her throat, all the while staring at her shoes.

'Then have my lips the sin that they have took,' she said again, her voice wavering only slightly on the word 'took'.

'Sin from my lips, o trespass sweetly urg'd,' he began, then paused. Hermione looked up to witness a miracle: Draco Malfoy forgetting his line – but it was only a theatrical pause, more commonly known as a trap. She looked up and fell straight into his blue eyes.

They both stared. Neither of them moved. Neither were able to. They had no idea why so much suspense hung in the air between them, but they both felt it.

'Give me my sin again,' he finished, simply, still looking nowhere but straight at her.

With no thought process, Hermione abandoned her crippling fear of kissing Draco Malfoy, reached out and pulled his face to hers, before softly landing her lips on his. She caught him by surprise, and he stumbled slightly, only able to catch his balance again by resting his hands just above Hermione's hips. Just as her hand on his neck and jawline almost made him want to forget himself and just feel; his hands on her brought her back to reality and scared her enough to make her pull away from him far too quickly.

'You kiss by th' book,' she said faintly.

Draco Malfoy had a horrible expression on his face, somewhere between a smirk and a grimace, 'You kiss like you don't know how,' he whispered, before wincing and taking a few deliberate steps back from her.

Unbridled rage roared up inside Hermione, but it was already too late.

'Madam your mother craves a word with you,' said the irritating Nurse on cue, and the show had to go on. Hermione fumed openly at the unjustness of his comment for the rest of the rehearsal. Draco found her foul mood pretty amusing and was still wearing a smug smirk when he took three drops of sleeping potion and climbed into bed. Finally, he thought, as he began to drift off, he had discovered something that Hermione Granger was not good at.

The next thing he knew, Hermione Granger was in his bed. She had her hands on him, first tracing his neck, then running them through his hair, and suddenly digging her nails into his shoulders. She was lying on top of him, her body pressing into his, while she trailed kisses down the side of his neck. He felt his hands tremble, but his instincts kicked in and he caught her face with both hands and leant in to kiss her. One of Hermione's hands shot to Draco's mouth while the other rested on his bare chest and she gently pushed him away from her as she sat up, straddling him. Draco's arms ached for her.

'I don't know how, remember?' She asked, somehow managing to be alluring and accusing at the same time.

Draco opened his mouth to reply and, in the same instant, he woke up. His eyes snapped open and his chest heaved as he tried to control his heavy breathing. What the fuck had just happened? Had he just had an erotic dream about Hermione Granger? Or was it a nightmare? His breathing slowed, eventually, but each time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of his dream – Hermione nuzzling his neck or subconsciously biting her lower lip in a way that made him swallow hard – until he resigned himself to staring rigidly at the ceiling of his four poster bed for the entire rest of the night.

In the mirror the next morning, the dark circles under his eyes were back, and in rehearsals that afternoon, Draco snapped at everybody, rolling his eyes impatiently until it was his turn to speak again and generally succeeding in putting every other student off completely. He ignored Hermione – naturally – but, between scenes, out of the corner of her eye, she sometimes thought that she saw him glance at her. When she looked up, however, he was always looking pointedly in the other direction. Intermittently, they would rehearse the kissing scene, but Hermione was careful to leave her arms by her sides, and their lips would hardly brush against each other before she moved on. Draco found himself wishing that she would put some effort into it: even her first, disastrous attempt at kissing him had been more passionate than what she presented him with these days. On the surface of things, it irritated him that they were giving a shoddy representation of the world's most romantic couple. Deeper down in his subconscious, however – at a level which he rarely felt comfortable thinking about – Draco sometimes wondered if he was frustrated simply because he wanted Hermione to touch him again.

Draco's dream reoccurred more or less nightly, although there were occasional hours of peaceful slumber – which only lulled him into a false sense of security – before he would wake up on a gasp, his breathing heavy and a strange feeling of both dread and excitement churning in his stomach. The dream began to progress until, after about a week, the setting seemed to change every night. It got to the stage where, when he was awake, there was nowhere Draco could go inside or outside Hogwarts without thinking about Hermione Granger in a way that almost made him blush. He was afraid that seeing her in person would be worse, but he soon found that he could easily separate the dream Hermione from the real life Granger. The girl in his dreams had a worldly confidence and was so calm and matter of fact in a way that Granger never was. For this reason, Draco didn't find it difficult to treat Hermione Granger exactly as he always had when they were face to face. Besides, it was only very, very occasionally that he caught himself staring after her a little longer than he should.


	5. O wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

In no time, it was the last Saturday in November and the Great Hall was transformed into a tiny slice of Shakespeare's beloved Verona in preparation for a dress rehearsal before the play would be performed that evening. At the flick of Professor McGonagall's wand, the four long tables – which usually took up the majority of the hall's space – neatly stacked themselves at the sides of the large room and over two hundred wooden chairs obediently marched into formation before the stage, which rose up from the floor at back of the Great Hall. Hermione and Draco stood together on top of Juliet's balcony – a construction made mostly from scaffolding and then covered in fast-growing climbing plants, courtesy of Professor Sprout – in a rare moment of contemplative silence. Draco rested his arms on the black, metal railing and looked out across the hall, while Hermione stood with her back against the faux stone wall of the balcony and idly looked at Draco. Below them, Professor McGonagall discussed projection of the voice with the boy playing Benvolio, and not for the first time. The rest of the cast stirred listlessly around them.

In costume, Hermione thought that Draco made a pretty convincing Elizabethan hero. She watched him, sword at his left hip, as he let out a sigh and ran one hand through his hair, and it dawned on Hermione how glad she was that they had ended up doing the play together. She no longer found herself able to feel suitably smug for tricking him into it, because he was just too good.

'Okay, everybody!' Professor McGonagall said, raising her voice slightly so that Hermione and Draco could hear, 'I think that will do for today, thank you! I'll see you all back here at six o'clock sharp!'

The buzz of conversation grew as people began filing out of the hall. Draco, without hesitating, clambered over the railing in front of him. Hermione thought he was taking the climbing to an extreme level.

'Aren't you going to use the stairs like the normal people do?' She asked.

He shrugged, 'It's quicker to jump.'

'Jump?' She repeated in disbelief.

'Sure,' he nodded.

She looked down at the stone floor below the balcony with raised eyebrows.

'The floor is a safety mat, in case I fall when I'm climbing,' Draco told her, 'The stone is just an illusion.'

Draco looked down at the floor, blinked rapidly as though having a minor disagreement with himself and then suddenly said, 'Are you coming, or what?'

Hermione's long-suffering mind flashed up countless warning signs behind her eyes, but she ignored them all. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy who she was sure would do almost anything to make her miserable, and yet she found herself joining him on the other side of the wrought iron fence, almost eagerly. They stood there together, balancing on their heels and leaning against the railing to keep their balance. Hermione's heart pounded with a natural fear that she couldn't control, and Draco caught the uncertain expression on her face.

'Leap of faith?' He suggested, accidentally catching her eye for the first time in weeks and then finding himself unable to look away.

'Oh, what the hell,' she shrugged, meeting his gaze with an easy smirk that Draco was sure he recognised.

'Three…' he began.

'Two…' she supplied, focussing her eyes nervously on the drop before them.

'One,' they said together and then, before he could stop himself, Draco reached out and grabbed Hermione's hand. She instantly had faith. Together, they jumped.

In reality, the balcony was only about ten feet or so above the floor and when, sure enough, the stone floor below them turned out to really be soft rubber which broke her fall, Hermione looked up at the pathetic distance that she had been so frightened of and laughed. The Great Hall was deserted now – apart from the two of them – and Professor McGonagall would no doubt be back soon to swiftly set the hall to rights in time for dinner, but neither Draco nor Hermione moved from the floor. The ceiling high above them – enchanted to look exactly like the sky outside – turned dark before their eyes, and silver stars winked down at them. Draco clasped his hands behinds his head, Hermione let her arms lie by her sides, and neither said anything for a moment. The dynamic between them felt more at ease than it ever had before, and Hermione felt herself relax more than she had ever allowed herself to in his presence.

'Are you nervous?' Draco asked, breaking the silence.

'About tonight?' She replied, looking over to her right for clarification.

He nodded, still staring up at the ceiling intently.

'No, not really,' she admitted, propping herself up on one elbow to see him more easily, 'Are you?'

The room was so quiet that Hermione heard the shaky breath that he took as he nodded noiselessly again. She got the feeling that Draco was unable to look at her. A Malfoy had just admitted weakness to a mere mudblood like herself: it was an historical moment.

'I think you're amazing,' Hermione said in a rush of emotion that she couldn't place.

This seemed to startle Draco, who finally looked over at her.

'Do you?' He asked.

'At acting,' she corrected quickly.

She knew she was blushing in embarrassment from the way Malfoy smirked and relaxed smugly back into his original position.

'You're pretty good yourself,' Draco said, after a moment, his voice seeming to trail off at the end of the sentence so that Hermione got the impression that it wasn't completely finished.

'But…?' She said suspiciously.

'I didn't say 'but',' Draco replied, as though she were an idiot.

'It sounded like you were going to,' she said, her tone becoming slightly more defensive than she had originally planned.

He looked over at her for a moment, then looked back at the ceiling and let out a quiet sigh.

'Look,' he began, 'Don't take this the wrong way. You know the part really well, and you know your lines perfectly… you're just not convincing. At all.'

She stared at him silently for a few seconds, as though stunned by his harsh words – though why should she be by now? – and then she simply stood and walked out on him.

Draco sat up slowly and tried to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach which, he suspected, was what regret felt like.

This was Hermione Granger: of course she took it the wrong way.

Not convincing? Not bloody convincing? Hermione glowered all through dinner and still couldn't force a smile as she was waiting backstage, grinding her teeth and hearing Draco Malfoy's cutting criticism in her head over and over and over again.

She sat in a corner by herself, not speaking to anyone, and when she saw him come into the room, she pointedly busied herself so that she didn't have to acknowledge him.

'The whole school's out there,' Draco said, looking as though he might have the nerve to sit down right beside her.

'Malfoy, you're almost on,' someone interrupted, and Draco turned and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

Hermione let out a breath of relief and looked around at the bustling backstage area. She had begun to feel slightly better, reminding herself that she had never let Draco Malfoy's opinion cloud her own judgement before. All she had to do was prove him wrong.

By the time Juliet was called on stage, Hermione had become completely determined to show Draco Malfoy that she could be convincing. As soon as she walked on stage, she decided, she would be Juliet. There was a noticeable difference in Hermione when she and Draco came face to face for the first time. The way she coolly met his gaze with the hint of a knowing smile almost knocked Draco off track a little. She moved around the stage like she owned the place, like it really was part of her own home.

'Then have my lips the sin that they have took,' she prompted, and Draco leaned in for yet another pathetic, nervous excuse for a kiss. He was caught off guard when Hermione threw her arms around his neck and planted a sweet, confident kiss on his mouth which left him wanting more.

She didn't move and Draco put his hands on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him as he said, 'Give me my sin again,' almost rushing through his words just so that she would kiss him again. This time it lasted longer, and he felt her hands in his hair, sending a lustful shiver through him. She pulled away, and he missed her already.

'You kiss by th' book,' she told him huskily, her eyes shining and her playful smile almost showing. Gone was the inexperienced, clumsy bookworm from the past seven years of his existence. Here, standing right in front of Draco Malfoy, was the beautiful, intelligent Hermione Granger who, so far, he had only seen mere flashes of in his utterly inappropriate dreams.

As they were all ushered off stage for the beginning of act two, a slightly dazed Draco caught Hermione's arm – another excuse to touch her. She turned to him, still with the same enigmatic smile playing on her lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but – at the same time – the sixth year playing Mercutio nudged him.

'Time to go, Malfoy,' the boy said, and Draco clenched his jaw.

'Later,' he said to Hermione, in a more serious tone than she had ever heard from him. He held her gaze for a moment longer, before turning and following Mercutio into the wings.

Hermione turned too, in the opposite direction, and headed for the off stage access to her balcony, grinning all the while. She got the feeling that she'd succeeded in convincing Draco Malfoy, and this filled her with nothing but smug satisfaction. The butterflies in her stomach when they touched were, she concluded, only an added bonus. And nothing more, she added firmly.

The staff and student body were, themselves, astounded by the chemistry between Hermione and Draco. They were a Gryffindor and a Slytherin; a muggleborn and a pureblood and – in essence – good and evil. But when Draco vowed by 'yonder blessed Moon' that he loved Hermione, they believed him; when the Nurse and Lady Capulet found Hermione apparently dead in her sleep, the whole school gasped as one; when Draco fell to his knees before them and wept for Hermione, the front row swore they saw real tears; and when Hermione clutched her 'happy dagger' and thrust it into her chest, Pansy Parkinson buried her face in her hands in an attempt to hide that she was crying.

Once the performance was over, there was a moment of absolute silence, and then the room exploded with applause and cheering. Hermione and Draco, sprawled one on top of each other in passionate death, took this as their cue to stand up and take a bow with the rest of the cast, though, for some reason, neither seemed particularly eager to move too far away from each other. Shoulders touched, fingers accidentally brushed and both wore enormous smiles which they found impossible to suppress as they stood side by side, flanked by the other characters. Pansy Parkinson's tears dried up instantly, replaced with a green-eyed glare, while Harry Potter and Ron Weasely exchanged a suspicious glance.

The success of Hogwarts' version of Romeo and Juliet resulted in four separate and spontaneous common room parties, which looked set to go on long into the night. Spirits were high backstage as everyone hurried to get out of their Shakespearian costumes and join their friends to celebrate and be congratulated. In the rush, Draco only saw the back of Hermione's head disappearing around the door, and even though he called out her name, he was far too late to catch her. He was left standing alone in the suddenly empty dressing room with only his own voice echoing back at him and an uncomfortable feeling of disappointment clouding his usually uncaring perspective.


End file.
